Strings Attached ➤ Jay

|| Static Between Us

🎸

Pistol -

‧₊˚♪𝄞"You've been on my mind
And I'll waste my time
'Til you lift me off the floor and love me again"࿐₊˚⊹

⚡︎⚡︎⚡︎

The rest of the morning was unusually quiet.

And not the comfortable, lazy Sunday kind of quiet — no, this was charged quiet, like the air right before lightning strikes. The storm from the night before might have passed, but I swore the shop was still buzzing with leftover electricity.

Jay had retreated to the vinyl section, meticulously aligning record sleeves with surgical precision (because of course he did), and I stayed behind the counter, twirling the silver guitar pick pouch in my hands whenever I thought he wasn't looking. Every now and then, though, I'd glance up and catch him sneaking a look at me from between the shelves. Not in a creepy way, just... curious.

We hadn't spoken much since the moment at the counter earlier, and somehow that was worse than our usual bickering. It was easier when we fought — easier when I could roll my eyes, toss a sarcastic jab, and go back to restocking CDs.

Now?

Now I was replaying last night on a loop — the weight of his hand clutching mine in the dark, the look on his face when he said he didn't usually let people see him like that, the sound of his voice when he thanked me.

Ugh. I hated how much space it was taking up in my head.

"Everything okay up here?"

My dad's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I nearly launched the pencil I'd been idly spinning across the room.

"Yeah," I said a little too quickly, shoving the pick pouch into my apron pocket like it had just been caught doing a crime.

Dad walked up to the counter, scanning the shop like he always did — a quick glance at the displays, the register, the racks. His eyes landed on Jay, who had gone still as soon as he realized Dad was there.

"Huh," Dad said, crossing his arms. "Quiet day, huh?"

"Yeah," I muttered.

"Suspiciously quiet."

I squinted at him. "What are you implying?"

Dad grinned like he'd just uncovered a scandal. "Usually by now you'd have thrown at least one sarcastic comment at him and threatened to fire him twice."

Jay smirked from across the room. "She's losing her edge."

I whipped around, glaring. "Excuse me?"

He had the audacity to look amused, brushing invisible dust off a record sleeve. "What? It's nice. Peaceful. I didn't think you were capable of going an entire morning without calling me a spoiled brat."

"Oh, don't worry, that's still coming," I shot back, though my face was definitely warmer than I wanted it to be.

Dad raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, whatever it is, keep it up. The shop hasn't felt this calm since... I don't even know when."

"Wow," I deadpanned. "Glad my personality is such a source of chaos for you."

He just grinned, patted the counter twice, and retreated back toward the office. "I'll let you two get back to it. Don't break anything — or each other."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Unbelievable."

When I peeked through my fingers, Jay was laughing silently, shoulders shaking.

"Not a word," I warned.

"Oh, I wasn't going to say anything," he said, smirking as he returned to the shelves. "But that blush is saying plenty."

My jaw dropped. "I am not blushing!"

"You are."

"I'm not."

"Sure."

"Ugh, you're so—"

"Careful," he said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that was far too smug. "You might accidentally admit you like me."

I threw the nearest pen at him. He ducked, laughing outright now.

And just like that, the tension shifted — not gone, but different. Lighter. Playful. Like we were both finally figuring out how to breathe again.

By the time the first customers trickled in, we'd managed to settle into something almost normal. I rang up a couple of used CDs for a guy who looked like he hadn't left the '90s behind, and Jay helped a college student find a Fleetwood Mac record her mom apparently swore by.

But every so often, I'd catch him glancing at me, like he was trying to read me without asking questions. And maybe I didn't hate it.

When the rush died down again, he leaned against the counter, watching me reorganize the pick display.

"You're keeping it, right?" he asked suddenly.

I glanced up. "Keeping what?"

"The pick." His voice was casual, but there was something in his eyes that wasn't casual at all.

I hesitated, running my thumb over the pouch in my apron pocket. "...Yeah. I'm keeping it."

Jay's lips curved slightly. "Good."

Something about the way he said it made my chest feel weirdly warm — like maybe this wasn't just about the guitar anymore.

⚡︎⚡︎⚡︎

A/N: yup the tvd gifs are back sillybillys. i missed them